


Brief Enclownter

by La_Marquise



Series: Strange Enclownters [2]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Face-Fucking, Hate Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:21:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23102401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/La_Marquise/pseuds/La_Marquise
Summary: The morning after his run-in with Hisoka, Kastro notices something of his is missing.
Relationships: Hisoka/Kastro
Series: Strange Enclownters [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1660450
Comments: 5
Kudos: 41





	Brief Enclownter

The first thing Kastro feels upon awakening the next morning is extreme discomfort. His body is sore from the unexpected exchange of blows the previous night, his head is pounding with the beginnings of a hangover, and he’s incredibly uncomfortable in… other areas. The second thing Kastro feels is regret. He groans as he gets out of bed and staggers into the bathroom. He showered the night before, but he feels as though he needs another.

Memories from last night run through Kastro’s mind as he stands under the shower head, letting the hot water cascade over him. He wants to forget everything that happened in the past twenty-four hours. The bar, the subpar liquor, the obnoxious magician who just had to show up… the unsettlingly satisfying fuck in the street. Kastro shudders at the thought as he begins to wash himself. It pains him to do so but he admits to himself that he can’t recall the last time he came as hard as he did last night.

He rinses himself off, turns off the water, and steps out of the shower. He doesn’t want to sit around in his room all day, nor does he want to dwell on last night’s mistakes. Deciding he’ll go out for coffee and a walk, Kastro dries himself off, gets dressed, grabs his wallet…

Where is his wallet? Kastro frowns as he scans his room. Did he leave it at the bar? He grabs the pants he wore last night and rummages through the pockets. No luck. He sighs in frustration. Did he really leave his wallet at the bar? He could have sworn he’d grabbed it. Unless…

No. He wouldn’t have. Kastro shakes his head. Hisoka is a lot of things. A pervert, a murderer, a second-rate magician… but he isn’t a pickpocket. At least, Kastro doesn’t think he is. Or maybe… Kastro furrows his brow as he’s forced to recall something Hisoka said to him. 

He can’t remember the exact words, but he clearly remembers Hisoka inviting him to his room. He also remembers that the magician had seemed quite intent on Kastro paying him a visit too. Could it be…

Kastro rolls his eyes and huffs in frustration when he realizes what must have happened. Hisoka must have taken his wallet last night, right before they parted ways… another twisted ploy to get what he wants.

Kastro is faced with something of a dilemma. On the one hand, he never wants to see the magician again unless he’s beating him to a pulp in the Arena. On the other hand… Kastro needs his wallet, and he’ll be damned if he lets Hisoka’s trickery ruin his day. Gritting his teeth, Kastro steels himself for the fact that he will not have the Hisoka-free day he’d earlier envisioned and walks out into the hallway.

He isn’t sure what he’s expecting when he knocks on Hisoka’s door. It’s early… part of him expects that the magician won’t answer the door at all. If he’s being honest, Kastro kind of hopes that’s the case. What Kastro doesn’t expect is for the door to fly open and for his eyes to be met by a very naked Hisoka standing in the doorway.

Kastro visibly recoils at the sight, which seems to amuse the naked man. A smirk slowly spreads over Hisoka’s face. “Good morning,” he drawls, leaning unabashedly against the doorframe. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” When words fail Kastro, Hisoka cocks his head to the side and smiles. “It’s a bit early for a rematch.” He presses a finger to his lips in a mock display of thought. “Unless…”

Kastro launches forward, pushing Hisoka back into his room and slamming the door behind them. “What are you doing?” he hisses. “Do you want the whole floor to see you like this?”

Hisoka seems to be confused for a moment. “Like this?” His eyes widen in understanding. “Oh I see. Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“Of course it does!” Kastro crosses his arms over his chest. “Who answers the door naked?”

Hisoka yawns. “I was sleeping.”

“Put some clothes on.”

“Why? I’m going back to sleep after you leave.” Hisoka arches an eyebrow. “Why are you here, Kastro?”

Kastro blinks at Hisoka’s bluntness, and realizes that he’s forgotten why he’s come. It comes back to him after several agonizingly long seconds. “My wallet! Give it back, if you have it.”

Hisoka chuckles in disbelief. “Why would I have your wallet?”

“I had it with me last night. You must have taken it when…”

“When we were fucking?” Hisoka interrupts, voice absolutely dripping with bored derision. He walks towards Kastro with long, languid strides, leading the white-haired man to step back. “I could have taken it, yes… but why would I do that?” 

Kastro glares at the redhead before realizing he’s been backed into the wall. “You know why.” He gives Hisoka’s shoulder a shove and pushes past. “Anyway, if you have it, give it back.”

“I don’t have it.” A smile creeps across Hisoka’s features. “But I might have seen you leave it somewhere. At the bar maybe. Or perhaps you dropped it.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Kastro snaps.

“You only asked if I had it. I answered.”

“Did you see where I left it, Hisoka?”

“No.”

Kastro rolls his eyes. “I don’t know why I bothered to come. I’ll call the bar later, and see if they have it.” He turns to leave but feels Hisoka’s hand close around his wrist. “Let go.”

“Why not stay awhile? I was hoping you came for a repeat of last night.”

“Let go, or I’ll break your arm.”

Hisoka shrugs and releases him. “Sore?”

“Shut up.” Kastro turns to scowl at the magician. A cocktail of anger, frustration, and... something else is beginning to form in the pit of his stomach. “Do you ever know when to be quiet?”

“I’m only voicing my concern.” Hisoka sighs and runs a hand through his unkempt hair. A familiar glint appears in his eyes when he catches sight of Kastro’s glare. “Mm you’re giving me that look again.” His voice drops to a deep, raspy register. “Are you going to _hit_ me?”

Kastro is tempted to give in and punch Hisoka right in the jaw, but something stops him. “I’m going to leave.”

“Then why haven’t you left yet?”

Hisoka narrows his eyes at Kastro as he awaits an answer. Kastro can’t come up with one. 

Kastro swears he’s going to leave this time. He’s seconds from turning on his heel and going back to his room, but the damn clown—that’s what he is, after all, a _clown_ —has to open his mouth again.

“I think you want to stay.”

That does it. The tiny ember of annoyance that has been building within Kastro from the second he knocked on the door bursts into a furious inferno. Kastro strides over to Hisoka, grabs a fistful of his hair, and forces him onto his knees. Had he not been overcome by emotions, Kastro would have noticed that Hisoka's knees buckled far too easily. 

“You don’t know when to shut up, do you?” Kastro tightens his grip on the magician’s hair. “I’ll make you.” He fiddles with the fastenings of his pants and pulls his already-stiffening cock out. Hisoka opens his mouth to comment on Kastro already being hard, but his words are muffled by the latter’s cock.

Fingers tangled in red hair, Kastro jerks his hips forward with a sudden intensity that catches Hisoka by surprise; the magician chokes when Kastro’s cock hits the back of his throat.

Seeing Hisoka like this, on his knees, eyes watering, gagging on cock sends electrical currents of excitement through Kastro’s body. His eyes lock on to the kneeling man’s face, his grip on his hair tightens, and his hips piston forward to drive his cock as far into Hisoka’s throat as he can. Kastro isn’t fully aware of it, but a string of obscenities is pouring from his mouth.

“You like it when I fuck your face, don’t you?” Kastro grits his teeth. “Disgusting bastard.” He already feels his orgasm approaching; Hisoka’s nails are digging into his hips and the man’s mouth feels so, so good around him… oh fuck who would have guessed he could work such magic with his tongue… He holds Hisoka’s head in place, pulling him forward with no space to draw back. 

Hisoka swallows around Kastro’s cock, his throat muscles flutter and contract around the intrusion as half-choked grunts vibrate through his chest. Kastro delights in the noises. A swell of pride builds in the pit of his stomach and shoots straight to his groin when he sees gag-induced tears forming in the corners of Hisoka’s eyes. The sight serves to make him thrust forward with forceful zeal as the last tenuous shreds of his self-control begin to slip away.

A particularly lewd moan draws Kastro’s attention to Hisoka’s crotch; the man is hard, achingly so. 

“Oh, you _love_ this,” he sneers, shifting to press his foot against Hisoka’s erection, pushing it against his abdomen. 

The groan that comes from deep within Hisoka’s chest sends jolts of pleasure up Kastro’s spine. The magician is shamelessly rubbing himself against the sole of Kastro’s foot, seemingly desperate for friction.

“You’re disgusting,” Kastro spits, applying more pressure to Hisoka’s cock and he continues to thrust. His self-control has withered away to nothing; his grip on Hisoka’s head is like iron. He vaguely wonders how the other man can breathe, but finds he doesn’t care much. 

Another groan, louder and more lascivious than the previous one alerts Kastro to the fact that Hisoka has already orgasmed; his release, sticky and opaque, has spattered over his abdomen.

“Freak.” The word is hissed with vitriol through gritted teeth as Kastro holds Hisoka’s head in place on his cock again. He plans to finish in his throat, but changes his mind at the last second. He yanks Hisoka’s head back with a sharp tug and begins to rapidly stroke himself as he watches the magician cough and sputter. 

There’s something about watching Hisoka gasp for air that Kastro finds positively _titillating_ ; it takes only a few strokes before Kastro peaks, coating Hisoka’s face with his cum.

Neither man says anything in the aftermath of their mutual release. Hisoka’s voice is ostensibly wrecked from the violent throat-fucking, and Kastro has run out of things to say. Without making further eye contact with the still-kneeling Hisoka, he hastily wipes himself off, tucks himself back into his pants and exits the room without another word.

*** 

2 am. Kastro lies in bed, unable to sleep. He ended up staying in his room all day after all, a decision that he is coming to regret. He never did find his wallet.

A knock at the door has him sitting bolt upright. “Yes?” He asks, all too wary of whoever goes knocking on doors at this hour.

An all-too familiar voice seeps through the door. 

“Forgive the intrusion,” Hisoka’s voice is sweet, too sweet, like overripe fruit. “I believe that I found something of yours…”


End file.
